


Nightmare

by Thighkyuu



Category: X-Men
Genre: be careful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 04:34:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16885698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thighkyuu/pseuds/Thighkyuu
Summary: Your powers cause you to have violent nightmares from which no one can wake you -  you can enter the minds of others and make them relive their worst nightmares.





	Nightmare

**Peter**

  Your screams echoed through the mansion, rousing even the deepest of sleepers. He sat up, fully alert. Not that he was sleeping well anyway. Your screams were horrifying, blood-curling screams. He’d known you for years, known about your nightmares, but he hadn’t expected this. You’d been at the mansion for three days due to his urging. After all, when someone began accidentally projecting their powers, they needed help. And so, at his request, you were here.

  He stood up, moving out of his dark, messy room and into the hallway. There were others peeking out from their doors. Some, such as the younger students, were frightened, but others simply looked annoyed. The floor was cool beneath his bare feet as he padded down the hallway slowly, avoiding the opening doors and quiet chatter of the other students. The closer he got to the source of the scream, the colder it got.

  It wasn’t your fault, really. Your powers caused the air to chill around you, sometimes even when you weren’t using them. That’s what the power of being able to make people relive their worst fears was. It was chilling and dangerous and it caused you to have more anxiety than normal. He moved closer, ignoring the growing chill. He was the one who had brought you here, and he should be the one to help.

  You’d warned the Professor that this would happen, the screaming. You’d warned him that you most likely wouldn’t wake up from the nightmare until it was over. Yet he had pleaded with the Professor to help you, and so you were here.

  He arrived at your door to find the Professor there, tired eyes looking at your door. Between your nightmares and Jean’s he was often up at ungodly hours. Another scream emitted from your room, and he looked over at the Professor, who gestured to the door. Sometimes it was very useful to have someone who could know what you wanted without you having to say it. He gripped the door handle, ignoring the icy-coldness of it, and turned the handle. If it hadn’t been you, he would’ve shut the door and left.

  The cold sucked the air from his lungs and chilled him to the bone. This was cold he’d never felt before. Bitter, unforgiving, harsh cold. He took a breath, stepping into the room. This was Y/N, his best friend. There was no turning back. His dark eyes landed on your bed, and he saw you through strands of his silver hair. The momentary shock nearly froze him in place.

  You were thrashing around in the bed, (Y/E/C) eyes rolled back into your head and your (Y/H/C) hair splayed around your head in a sort halo. Your features were ridden with fear and agony and he couldn’t think. He stared, wondering how someone so beautiful could be in so much pain. He took another slow breath.

_Move, Peter, you’ve got to move._

  So he did moved, perching lightly on the side of your bed. He placed his hand lightly on the chilled skin of your arm.

“Y/N? It’s Peter.”

**Charles Xavier**

  He watched as Peter spoke, his tired eyes fixated on the scene before him. Peter’s voice was soft and gentle and worried, more so than any time he’d ever heard the boy speak. He watched as Peter’s hand gently brushed your arm. It must’ve been an agonizingly slow movement for Peter, he knew.

“Y/N, I know you told us you wouldn’t wake up from these nightmares, but I thought I’d try. Besides, you’re going to give us all hypothermia.” He watched as Peter talked and talked and talked, his mouth never stopping unless except to pause for air. He told stories of his childhood, of your childhood, of the one time he accidentally stole your dollar. He described dreams and feelings and sunsets and how it feels to run as fast as he does. He described the way music affected him and how you made him want to go slowly for once. He talked for hours.

  A crowd had formed around him and the doorway as he’d watched and listened. There they all stood, watching as Peter talked and your thrashing slowly stopped. Your eyes slowly returned to their natural position and closed and your body slackened. Still, Peter talked.

  Somewhere along the way, the crowd dispersed; perhaps understanding the magnitude of the scene they had just witnessed a part of. Perhaps it was enough to hear the way Peter spoke to you to tell them that to watch more was an invasion of privacy.

 

**Peter**

  His throat was raw and dry and his voice was cracking, but he kept talking. He was afraid that if he stopped talking your nightmare would begin again. So he talked. And talked. He talked until sunlight broke through the curtains.

  So began a ritual. Every night that you would scream, he would get up and talk to you until the sun rose. And, every night, even though he would not find this out until much later, the Professor and some students would gather around the doorway and listen for a while.

  He was exhausted, he knew, but he wasn’t sure he minded. It was helping Y/N when he talked her through her nightmares, and that was good enough for him.

  One week was particularly bad, however. You had a nightmare every night, sometimes even having a second one after he managed to dispel the first, and he got very little sleep. You, of course, noticed. He didn’t have an explanation.

 

**Y/N**

“Peter?” You shook his shoulder lightly, and his eyes opened sleepily. “Are you alright?” You were concerned. Very concerned. You were pretty sure you loved Peter, and you’d only seen him like this once before.

“Yeah, just tired. I haven’t gotten much sleep.”

“Well that’s obvious, and not what I meant. I have an excuse. What’s yours?”

“Just worry, Y/N, I’m just worried.”

 

**Peter**

  There wasn’t any screaming this time. No, this time there was only extreme cold. He sat up, the cold numbing his movements. It had never gotten this far before, never this cold this far. And it was only getting colder. He found the Professor in the hallway, coming toward his room with worry etched onto his face.

“You need to move everyone in this wing out. Especially if they’re close to her room. They’ll freeze to death.”

“Wolverine’s already working on it, but he’s having trouble. A lot of the kids are thrashing.”

“Y/N’s mass projecting?” His heart nearly stopped then and there. This wasn’t good. So very, very far from good. He took off toward your room, and Charles’ voice rang in his head.

_She’s done this before?_

_Once._  He’d never witnessed one of your nightmares, but he had witnessed the time you’d been in a traumatic incident. You’d accidentally mass-projected onto everyone within a mile radius, including him. It wasn’t something he liked to remember.

  He was frozen to the bone by the time he reached your room, and he couldn’t feel most of his fingers or toes. He gripped your doorknob, yanking the door open. The cold surged from the room, and he stepped in. There was ice irradiating from the bed, creeping down the bed, across the floor, up the walls. He moved carefully, trying not to slip. You were thrashing and bone cold and he could feel fear creeping into his brain. Projection. He touched your arm, flinching as his hand burned from the cold.

“Y/N, you’ve got to wake up.” And he began talking and talking and talking, his voice getting faster as the fear began to creep further into his mind. What if you died? What if he lost you? What if you died not knowing how much he loved you? He was freezing and he could barely breathe and he was running out of things to say. He crawled onto the bed, pulling you into his lap and holding you still. He kept talking. Your fingernails caught his arm, causing him to hiss in pain, but he did not let you go. “Y/N, I know you can hear me.” The cold was getting oppressive and the fear was all-consuming. “Y/N, I love you.”

  You froze, going completely rigid before falling back limp. The fear seeped slowly out of his mind as the ice retracted slowly, disappearing into nothing. He moved you slowly off of his lap, standing  up. He was bone-weary and he felt quite strongly like he was going to throw up.

 

**Y/N**

_The thing grew closer, clawing at you, at what was left of you. You were sobbing, bleeding, unable to think. Where was he? Why wasn’t he there? Was he dead? Was it your fault?_

_You feel claws dig into your legs and cry out, feeling every inch of the creature’s long, thick claws dig into your skin. Why were they after you? Why was it always you? You fell to the ground and the creatures were upon you, digging into your flesh. You screamed and screamed but no one heard you. No one came._

_Suddenly, the creatures were gone_ _and you were being held in someone’s arms. The pain was gone, replaced by warmth and gentle touch. ‘Y/N,’ the person whispered, soothing you, 'I love you.’_

  Your eyes open and you take a deep breath, shooting into a sitting position. Your breathing is heavy as you sit up, looking around. No one. You lean back onto your pillow. A dream. Just a dream. No, a nightmare.

  You stand shakily, wrapping your arms around your body. You’re freezing, as usual, and feel hollow, as usual. You step quietly outside of your room, the floor that should be cold feeling warm under your feet. You make your way to his room, opening the door quietly.

“Peter?” He’s sitting on his bed, his head in one hand and the other pressed tightly onto the bed. “Peter, why are you—?” You step closer, moving to stand in front of him.

“Your nightmare,” he said quietly, lifting his head to look at you. He looks like hell. “Never mind, just come here.” He pulls you into a tight hug, his body shaking.

“You were there,” you whisper, “you saved me.” He holds you for a long time, neither of you moving.

“I talk to you. Every time you have a nightmare, I talk to you until it ends.” His voice is tired and soft and weary. “I talk to you and your nightmare ends and I love you, Y/N.” You’re breath hitches and you can feel your heart pounding. You don’t pull away. You don’t even think before responding. You just do.

“I love you too, Peter.”

  There were no nightmares after that, not awful ones. There were small ones, ones that were less terrifying but still left you scared senseless, but when you woke up you knew he’d be there. You knew he’d always be there.

And that was enough.


End file.
